Noumena x Phenomena
by go-make-money-damnit
Summary: Even when subjective realities collide, all those meanings of circumstances still can't overlap one another.


**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Mr. Togashi Yoshihiro. I adore him so much but he makes his audiences wait forever for a chapter, and it's worth it although my patience is starving for more of HxH. That Dark Continent arc is easier to follow when the whole progress is read all at once but I'm missing the series too much that I crawl back to it anyway.

This might have no storyline because the plot of HxH is already very explicit. If any chapter has one, usually it will be really insipid.

Additional note as regard, TheKiltedHeathen on AO3 gave me a paraphrase to improve a confusing sentence in which I used to replace that part in my work. Many thanks.

This one: "Kurapika wants to be a cat that can hunt down all of his prey; even when being the predator is painful within its solitary and egotistical existence, among the rats that may or may not metamorphose into something else."

Guys, if you found oddities within my fic that need to be altered, please leave a criticism so I can know where to fix. Thanks.

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Within this neverending rat race, everyone strives to be a cat. Kurapika wants to be a cat that can hunt down all of his prey; even when being the predator is painful within its solitary and egotistical existence, among the rats that may or may not metamorphose into something else.

Sometimes he's annoyed by it - such determination within him keeps flaming like a blaze that burns down his ego slowly._ So what if I lower myself to achieve what I want?_ Sometimes, the king of vengeance puts himself in retrospect of who he used to be - a guy of specific personal standards, a boy of pampered innocence, an adolescent of curiosity nourished by the books. He has to be better than who he was, otherwise none of this will work. There's a job needed to be done, a purpose to continue these elongated days of nurtured anguish, to laugh in bitterness and to cry in reminiscence, to live fervently and to die satisfied. _Please remember, if you can't climb above your limits to aim at other limits, you're indirectly excluded yourself out of the game. Don't indulge on your emotions and private wishes, step on them, especially when you reevaluate those feelings again it's clearer that they're not too essential,_ not within this purgatory that any of them could assist him. If he has to cling on an embodiment of his efforts, then everything is dedicated to _**those he commemorates**_.

_Wait for me._

Sometime he wonders if there's an afterlife where he could meet them again after his ultimate demise, after his cadaver is ravished by bacteria and returns to dirt or stardust. Nevermind, it's too late to express gratitude and regrets. He misses their lovely voices, their interactions with hands cuddling on his head and his shoulders, their softly spoken words dripping down his ear canals; some people didn't realize how important corporeal exchanges are until those somatic experiences has gone astray. Selfish, how could he be so selfish back then? How could he think leaving people who were endearing to him when he needed to protect them the most was okay? However that sounds moronic, as a powerless wretch was a powerless wretch, and nothing would change if he did so except for his continual existence of prolonged abhorrence getting demolished. Such sequel is painful, really.

_Can I make a phone call to Hades? Oh, I miss you-I miss you-I miss you._

Sometimes he finds himself hypocritical. No, he isn't doing this for them. He's doing it for his own hatred that could not be tamed. _But I'm doing this to seek a decent aftermath for their deaths,_ for the insults to the dead was too much to be forgiven. Sadly, they won't need it as their breaths had faded away a long time ago, their eyeballs taken away and possessed by strangers he strives to meet and coerce to return such cursed objects that used to be parts of spiritual individuals, their bodies decaying six feet deep under the cold ground and their warmth vanished from his sense that he craves crazily for such tenderness that he could no longer attain. Those familiar figures rolling in his psyche either makes him burst out with heavy gasps in a sudden rage or get passionately irritated in silence when the thrist of avenging consumes him ferociously inside. _Go on, eat me up._ He lost them, he lost those he loved and still loves so badly, he casted his dignity and casted away other options of how to live. He used to have gaiety accompanied, now he has a reason not to go insane with agonies right away. Within this chaotic cycle of interweaving subsistences they're gone-gone-gone.

_Forgive me. Please, wait for me. Wait for me. Wait for me._

Sometimes he thinks of insipid things like those, but with nothing progresses in reality until he utilizes such notions as motivations. _Give me a reason to survive through this hostility of mine._ The emperor of bitterness questions himself what he would do after he accomplishes his goals. Seeking them again in heaven (although he might later be damned in hell)? Dragging his broken soul through another series of dolors? How irresponsible, has he worked hard enough for such spur of weakness? He's slowly achieving what he desires, right? Then why is his heart breaking apart?

_There is no escape from this anathema of my sabotaged atman, but I want to stand by it even when the sky is falling down._

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**_Author's note: _**This is an old draft written during a spur of emotions during the scene of Kurapika quietly lamented the members of his clan in a room full of eyeballs stored in containers, therefore it was executed quite sloppily as I felt more than I thought. However, I decided not to change anything because raw feelings that were that intensive are quite rare, so it holds certain meanings that without the habitually flamboyant usage of words I can still remember it not from direct experience but from memory. Kurapika's perspective is quite severe I don't think I can understand it, but I value it with my primitive empathetic tendency.

Kurapika is a respectable man of how far he would go for the Kurta clan. Sometimes I think that I love my family so much I could live and die for them, but the pure intentions of those thoughts are barely conveyed because they sound maudlin and I believe those who I cherish already knew that.


End file.
